


Hi, Anna

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Domestic, Family, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-01
Updated: 2007-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family adventures continue for House, Wilson, and their daughter Anna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hi, Anna

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hi, Mom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/184546) by [Dee_Laundry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry). 



> In [Hi, Mom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/184546), I gave House and Wilson a baby girl. In [Hi, Ma](http://community.livejournal.com/remix_redux/60762.html), [](http://roga.livejournal.com/profile)[**roga**](http://roga.livejournal.com/) gave the baby a kick-ass Nana. In [Hi, Dads](http://perspi.livejournal.com/48351.html), [](http://perspi.livejournal.com/profile)[**perspi**](http://perspi.livejournal.com/) gave the baby a first name, and a great start in life. Here, I give her a headache and [](http://roga.livejournal.com/profile)[**roga**](http://roga.livejournal.com/) gives her a great start to a new phase of her life.

**What are you doing?**

I’m cutting the little strings and pills off these towels.

 **We have like ten sets of towels – apparently linens were the only things you ever fought for in your divorces – so why are you bothering? What a colossal waste of time.**

You just spent ninety minutes playing Tomb Raider, a game you’ve already beaten twice.

 **So?**

You have your diversions; I have mine.

 **You are such a woman.**

That is definitely not what you said last night.

 **Why is the phone sitting like that? Are you on speakerphone with someone?**

Oh, sh – ucks. Nana, did you hear that?

 _I think I might be going deaf, sweetheart; I didn’t hear any of that at all._

Thank you.

 _For going deaf? You’re my angel, but you’re also a strange boy, Jimmy’le._

What were you saying before?

 _Oh, yes. I’m having a nice quilt embroidered, and I need to know how you decided Anna’s last name will go._

She doesn’t have a last name.

 _Oy, you boys. You can’t put off decisions like this forever. How did either of you finish medical school, procrastinating like that?_

We made our decision. She doesn’t have a last name.

 _What? I think that deafness is creeping up on me again._

We got tired of arguing with each other and decided to argue with the rest of the world instead. She’s just Anna, no last name.

 **If the world can handle Cher and Madonna and Fantasia, it can handle Anna.**

Cher, Madonna, and Fantasia? You’re not exactly racking up the masculine points yourself.

 **Hey, they’re all hot! Or used to be. Cher and Madonna aren’t exactly spring chickens any more.**

 _Have you looked in the mirror lately, popkin?_

 **Not nice, Judy. Not nice at all**.

 _I’ll stop teasing if you stop teasing and tell me Anna’s last name so I can get this quilt finished._

It’s not a joke, Nana. That’s what it says on the birth certificate – Anna. Social Security card, same thing.

 _You’re serious? They let you put only one name?_

Yes.

 _I don’t think people are going to understand. Wouldn’t it be easier if she had a last name?_

Probably. It’d also be easier if her parents were younger.

 **And straight.**

Legally married.

 **Not crippled.**

Not Jewish.

 **Or atheist.**

 _I see your point._

 **Hey, we’re white, though. We’ve got that going for us.**

 _Your perky optimism has always been your most admirable trait, Greginke. So you’ve told your mothers about your decision?_

Well...

 _You are not putting me in the middle of not talking to your mother again. I want to do a lot more dancing before I die, but not that kind._

 **We are prepared to argue with the rest of the world, just not those that bore us. Don’t worry, though; I made a deal with a guy who’ll launder grandmothers’ checks made out to Anna Wilson or Anna House.**

 _So you lied to them._

We... let them believe what they want.

 _You... Eh. I don’t have time for such worries. You’re both happy?_

Yes.

 _Anna’s happy?_

 **As a clam.**

 _Then I’m happy. One simple name all by itself... This quilt will look lovely._

I’m sure it will. Thank you, Nana.

***

I can definitely make that appointment for you. Your daughter’s name?

Anna.

What’s her last name?

She doesn’t have one.

She doesn’t? That’s… I’ve never heard of that before. How can we tell her apart from the other Annas in the database?

How about the only one with no last name?

***

Look at this.

An envelope. Thrilling.

Look who it’s addressed to.

Miss Anna Just? What is this?

It’s a birthday party invitation, from a little girl Anna knows from the park, Emily.

Why would you tell them her last name is Just?

I didn’t mention anything about Anna’s name. The mom asked for our address to send this invitation so that’s what I gave her.

That better be all you gave her.

Give it a rest.

So how did the mom come up with this name?

I’ve been thinking about that. My guess is Emily asked Anna what her full name was, and she replied –

Just Anna.

And when Emily told her mom, it somehow got flipped around to Anna Just.

Well, that’s a new one. That’s got to go on the Error List.

Definitely. My favorite is still An Na.

That weird woman who thought Anna was Chinese.

And I was Lithuanian.

And I was possessed.

Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

Trite aphorisms – sexy.

Well, if you feel that way, Devil Man, c’mon. I don’t have to pick Anna up from her playdate for another hour.

***

Dad, everybody has a last name.

Not everybody. You don’t.

Dad!

You’ve seen your birth certificate. Why do you keep asking me this?

What is my last name?

Bolic.

Dad.

Conda.

Grr.

Crotic. Plasia. Biosis. Baptist. Cathartic. Robic. Diplosis. I could do this all day.

I hate you.

I know.

You’re not going to say Thema?

Pronounced differently, baby. Ruins the joke.

***

“If you don’t stop jiggling your foot I’m going to roll over it and pin it to the ground,” House says with a glare.

Wilson glares back at him but makes a conscious effort to stop fidgeting. “Ten years ago you would’ve offered me sex to get me to calm down.”

“Ten years ago, we wouldn’t have been in this situation, because Anna was living at home and playing with Barbie dolls in her pink princess bedroom, and there was no such thing as boys.”

“Her bedroom theme went from space to animals to early American folk art, one, and two, she wasn’t still playing with Barbie dolls ten years ago.”

“She should have been! She should be playing with them now! Why couldn’t she have been a lesbian? Lesbian relationship, I could handle. You should’ve signed her up for softball instead of music lessons.”

Wilson rolls his eyes and heads to the front door to check again if they’re here yet. _They_ , he thinks as he looks out through the glass, _it’s so strange to think of Anna as part of a they when for all this time she’s simply been part of an us_.

Pain shoots through his calves as House rams right into him, causing him to fall into House’s lap. “So,” House says while Wilson’s trying to get his bearings, “how about a hand job to calm you down?”

“Whose hand, and whose job?” he replies, and lays a long smacking kiss on House’s grin. “Raincheck, because they’re here.”

Hoisting himself up, he pushes House back an inch or two so that he can swing the door open just as Anna and the oddly, awkwardly cute kid she’s with make it to the porch. Then he finds himself pushed back, and House has rolled forward to block the entryway.

“Hi, Daddy,” Anna calls, and Wilson stretches out around a not-budging House to get a quick hug and kiss.

Anna pulls away with a smile and a twinkle, and says, “Hi, Dad.” House tilts his cheek up slightly to accept her kiss but keeps his gaze focused on the boy.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. ________,” the boy says, finishing his sentence with an audible sort of blank space.

Wilson has to fight a smile as House frowns. “I’m sorry, Mr. what?”

“Um. ... .”

“... ?” House mimics, all expression and sadism.

The boy surprises him, though, replying, “I’ve always thought of it as an ellipsis,” and Anna’s standing right next to him, defiant and a little bit amused. “A distinguished sort of silence.”

“Oh, he’s good,” Wilson says.

“I can’t believe the little brat never told him our last names,” House grumbles.

“Little brat standing right here, Dad,” Anna points out.

“Little brat’s fiancé not appreciating his fiancée being called a brat,” the boy pipes up, then tilts his head to the side and squints at her. “Although I can kind of see it.”

As Wilson is busy scraping his jaw off the floor, House rounds in on Anna. “Fiancé? And you’ve never even told him our last names? Are you trying to give your mother a heart attack?”

Anna rolls her eyes. “Not everything I do is about you guys, sheesh.”

“You have some chutzpa,” House starts, and Wilson has to mutter, “You’re channeling Nana again,” under his breath, and the boy interrupts politely.

“No, really,” he says, his expression twisting and complex but his eyes focused on Anna’s face like it’s the only thing worth looking at in the world. “It’s about her placing me in as many uncomfortable situations as possible. I don’t know why I love her, really.”

Suddenly Wilson feels such a strong kinship with the boy that he pushes the door open as wide as it will go and knows what his daughter’s future will look like, and says, “Well, don’t just stand there, come in. We’ll talk about it inside, with tea, and possibly liquor.”

The boy’s face relaxes, and he picks up his bags. “Thanks, Mr. ________.”

“Hmm, that does sound distinguished,” Wilson muses aloud.

House says, “It sounds moronic. You can call me Mister G.”

“Excellent,” replies the boy. “Maybe I can borrow some bling-bling for the wedding – Anna wants a lot of flash.”

Anna says, “I’ve already decided what we’re naming the kids,” which is a brilliant tactic, Wilson thinks, because mentioning kids freaks out him, House, and the boy all at once. “They’re going to be right parenthesis and left parenthesis. It has symmetry, don’t you think?”

The boy’s eyes widen briefly, and for a moment Wilson wants to reassure him, _it’s just Anna_.

Except she’s never been ‘just’ Anna. Wilson knows where this kid’s at, and he’s in for one hell of an adventure.

 _Epilogue:_

At the door to Anna's bedroom, House throws a defensive block worthy of any sport.

"But we're engaged!" the boy splutters.

"You're not engaging in _anything_ while you're under my roof," House replies.

"Dad!" Anna protests. "It's not like I'm a virgin."

"It's exactly like you're a virgin," House insists, "because you _are_ one. You can have sex when I'm dead."

"No, she can't," Wilson says, walking up to them. "She can't have sex until _I'm_ dead. Your bags are in your room down the hall," he continues, pointing to the boy.

The boy sighs, defeated, and after a last lingering look at Anna, trudges toward the guest room.

"And I'm booby trapping the door!" House shouts after him. "Open it tonight and you'll be singing soprano!"

  
In the morning, Wilson wakes up to the disturbing smell of pancakes that aren't his own.

"Mmm, those smell good," House murmurs beside him, and then notices that Wilson is, in fact, beside him. "That bastard."

The pancakes, Wilson discovers sourly, are delicious. Even House graces the table with a smile, but then, he's always been a food-whore. Anna, however, takes one bite and smacks the back of the boy's head. "I _told_ you not to make the good ones!" she hisses. " _Tender ego_ , remember?"

"Okay, _ow_ ," the boy says. "One, please don't emasculate me in front of your dads, and two," he turns to Wilson with a hopeful/charming sort of grin, "it's not my fault your dad holds the best ingredients possible."

Wilson doesn't let himself be fooled by that grin -- he _invented_ that grin -- but damn it, he _does_ buy the best ingredients possible. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"But pancakes will win you my heart," House says, licking his lips. "By the way, don't think we didn't see Anna sneaking into your room last night."

The boy's eyes widen. "There was a spider. I have an irrational phobia. It's genetic."

House rounds in on Anna. "Aha! So you _did_ sneak into his room!"

Anna flicks a finger at the boy's ear and says, "Thanks, you just fell for the _oldest trick in the book_ ," and the boy says, "Okay, what is it about this house that makes you so physically abusive?" and Wilson says, satisfied, "Yeah, you totally just lost all your pancake points."


End file.
